Nathan in August.
“That’s why we started coming every weekend,” Nathan said. “Grandpa’s moving in a few weeks.”
I looked at Michael’s handmade furniture, the shelves, and the tools scattered around the workshop.
“You’ve been trying to save all this?”
Nathan nodded.
“I thought if we worked fast enough, we could finish everything before Grandpa moved.”
“We don’t have room for an entire workshop.”
I saw his face close off.
“Of course we don’t, Mom. Of course.”
“Nathan, I didn’t mean…”
“You just got here, Mom. You don’t get to show up now and pretend you were part of this.”
I wanted to explain my grief, but tried another approach.
“What matters most to you? We can bring some things home.”
He glanced helplessly around the room.
“I can’t choose.”
“Then we won’t decide today.”
Nathan walked out. When Frank moved to follow, I gently stopped him.
“Give him a
